Page 21 of The Truths We Burn

My boyfriend is overtaken by his football team, all of them scooping him up onto their shoulders like some sacrificial lamb, boosting his ego and rekindling his already huge God complex.

The sun has almost completely set, and my uniform is starting to itch. There’s a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream and a rerun ofSixteen Candlescalling my name.

I pull my phone out of my purse, knowing Rose won’t drive here, and my mother is getting a spa treatment, so that leaves my dad.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Easton approaches me with a grin, still laughing at his friends as they shove him in my direction.

“Well, considering your car looks like my mother’s attempts at cooking, I’m going to need a ride. I’m texted my dad to pick me up.” I wiggle my phone at him, smiling for a short minute.

“Mind cutting the attitude?” he says. “I thought girlfriends were supposed to comfort their boyfriends after tragic events, not act like spoiled brats. I thought you told me you were coming to the party?”

“Your Range Rover got set on fire, it’s not like your dog died,” I return with a snippy tone. If he wants an attitude, that’s what I’ll give him. “No, Easton, I told you I wasn’t going. I have homework, and I’m exhausted.”

“Babe, come on,” he whines as he grabs my waist and pulls me into his body. “It’ll be fun. It’s our last homecoming party before college and you’re gonna bail?”He drags his nose up and down the side of my neck.

“They’re fun for you,” I point out, laying my hand on his chest and pushing him back a bit. “I always end up making sure you get to the bathroom before you puke and driving you home. I’m just not interested tonight. I’ll text you later?”

His grip tightens around me like a python ready to eat its prey, his blue eyes turning a few shades too dark.

This is the truth of this place.

Everyone wears masks. Some are just more visible than others.

I hate this about him more than anything. It’s the hardest to put up with.

It isn’t that the sex lasts three minutes or how he always talks about himself. It’s when his father snaps at him, he becomes the worst version of himself. The man his father made him into.

As far as I know, Stephen never hits him, but he’s able to control him with the simplest of words. He makes his son feel weak and inferior to him.

So, because Easton refuses to stand up to his dad, he takes it out on the people around him when he doesn’t get what he wants—and it’s me who bears the brunt of it most of the time.

“Not interested?” he repeats, lowering his voice so others can’t hear. “Let me make something clear to you, Sage. I’m the quarterback of the football team, the future of Ponderosa Springs. I am the star of everyone’s eye in this town, and in a split second, I could demolish that cupcake reputation you cling to so tightly. If I want my girlfriend to be seen with me at a party, then she’s going to go.”

My molars grind together as he keeps running his mouth.

“So why don’t you do what you do best—hang off my arm, smile, and look pretty, alright?”

Those words trigger something deep inside me—events I locked up far, far, away—bringing them to the surface.

Sit still, smile, and look pretty, Sage,I hear in the back of my mind, whispering along my collarbone and wiggling beneath my skin like worms. I’m infested with haunted moments, thousands of little camera flashes inside my head to depict all those miserable days and nights.

I look around at the eyes, the observers, knowing I can’t do anything excessive. If I did, I have no doubt in two hours everyone would know, and it would be blown into something dramatic.

Breaking News!

All-star Easton Sinclair and Miss Ponderosa Springs have Called it Quits!

So in order to prevent any more fire damage today, I do what I do best.

I act.

A smile, sweet like honey, unfolds across my face. I lean my body closer into his, his chemically made scent wafting over me, and with gentle fingers, I run my hand up his chest, resting it there.

My breath is hot on his neck as I hover my lips close to his ear,using my tennis shoes to help me up onto my tippy-toes.

It’s a warm embrace, one that looks full of young love and butterflies. I’m nearly positive I hear a couple walk by muttering about how precious we are together.

“If you don’t take your hands off me in the next three seconds, Easton Sinclair, I will show you what ruining someone’s lifereallylooks like. Do not underestimate the damage I can do with this pretty smile.”

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